p. 14 | Trusting God at Home by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · May 6, 1915

Trusting God at Home

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE

WE read with deep emotion of the sublime faith of the martyrs who lived in times which tried men's souls. We marvel at that faith which is able to keep the feet from slipping on the way to the scaffold or the stake. But, beloved, you and I, in fact every individual member of God's church, must learn the lesson of implicit faith in our Father. We must learn to trust him every hour of every day, and to look to him for help in every perplexity. If we cannot learn to trust God in times of comparative security and quiet, how can we bring ourselves to trust him when, like Abraham, we are called to endure the “horror of great darkness”?

We wonder that Paul and Silas, with their bleeding backs pressed to the cold, damp floor of the Macedonian dungeon, could so far forget their sufferings as to raise their voices in songs of prayer and praise. To all appearances there was no hope for their deliverance, but they did not murmur nor complain; they did not wait for Satan to tempt them to bemoan their fortune; they did not wait until the Lord sent them help from heaven; but then and there they sang, dispensing good cheer throughout the prison. And then, wonder of wonders, the solid earth was shaken and rent, and more astonishing still was the fact that not only were the bonds of the singers loosed, but every chain throughout the prison was broken. What was there in an earthquake to cause so remarkable a result?—Nothing at all. It was due to the great power of him to whom two friendless and persecuted men were singing praises. But if Paul and Silas had not learned the lesson of perfect trust, this wonderful story could never have been written.

God is a “friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” He will straighten out all those little difficulties which so often harass and annoy us at home. O, let us sing songs instead of grumbling! The Almighty Framer of the universe is not far distant when his creatures sing his praises, even when they are sorely troubled. The Word says, “Thou meetest him that rejoiceth and worketh righteousness.” Do we believe it? Then why is there so little rejoicing?

“Well,” says one, “God does not work miracles any more, and my life is so dull and commonplace. I am right at home and in the kitchen most of the time. So many things go wrong! It seems harder to keep patient and trust God right at home than almost anywhere else.” I agree with you. I believe it is harder, but I do know that it can be done, and it must be done if we stand before him at last without spot or wrinkle. But I do not agree with you when you say that God does not work miracles today. Why, my friend, there are as many miracles wrought in this twentieth century as there were in the days of the apostles. Do you realize that if God's tender care for us should cease for a moment, we should be unable to live? “Why!” exclaims one, “I never remember of anything very wonderful happening to me in my life.” That is the point. Something surely would have happened had it not been for the kind care of your Heavenly Father. How quickly Satan brought misery and distress to Job after God removed the “hedge” from round about him. Probably in a single day that faithful man was overwhelmed with sorrow—children dead, flocks burned, houses destroyed, servants slain. Was this a miracle?—O, no; the miracle had been performed before, while peace and plenty reigned; while the hedge had encompassed him and his. I believe that hedge was a company of angels, for “the angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.” O, this wonderful hedge which the Almighty places around his trusting children is a constant miracle!

“But,” you say, “I hardly see it that way. I cannot believe that God performs miracles just for me every day, right here at home.” Ah, my friend, do you remember that yesterday, as you were hurrying down the stairs, you caught your foot in the carpet, stumbled, and came near falling? How your heart jumped and throbbed, for you were almost at the top of the long flight! Death waited for you at the bottom, or at best the surgeon's table or an invalid's chair. Whose hand upheld you in that moment of helplessness? And yet you forgot to thank God for the miracle. Today, when John and Susie were at play, the lash of a whip struck your little girl's cheek and hurt her till she cried out. You remarked that it “was a miracle that the eye was not injured,” and still you dismissed the matter from your mind by

giving Johnnie a scolding. It never occurred to you that you should thank God for the “miracle.”

O, the loving Father cares for us all individually! He numbers the very hairs of our heads, and no detail connected with our welfare, however small, escapes his notice. Surely it must grieve his infinite heart of love when we distrust him. Let us do so no longer.

Lansing, Mich.